


I Do Not Think I Would

by NotManTheLessButNatureMore



Series: I Love You [6]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 09:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16930662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotManTheLessButNatureMore/pseuds/NotManTheLessButNatureMore
Summary: He remembers Robin, and it will always be like this.





	I Do Not Think I Would

**Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink**

**Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;**

**Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink**

**And rise and sink and rise and sink again;**

**Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,**

**Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;**

**Yet many a man is making friends with death**

**Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.**

**It well may be that in a difficult hour,**

**Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,**

**Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,**

**I might be driven to sell your love for peace,**

**Or trade the memory of this night for food.**

**It well may be. I do not think I would.**

_\- Love is Not All (Sonney XXX), Edna St. Vincent Millay_

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

There are things he doesn’t remember. Despite all of his finely honed observational skills and meticulous work ethic there are blindspots and gaps.

 

His earliest memory is of climbing a tree, struggling to pull himself up as Leda held both his legs and pushed. He remembers looking down at her, as though she was a tiny creature and he was on the roof of a castle. Her soft smile and arched eyebrow dissolved into laughter as he roared like a lion.

 

He doesn’t remember the first time he met Johnny Rokeby, just remembers him always being a faint outline in the distance.

 

He remembers running down sand dunes with Ilsa while aunt Joan pushed Lucy around in her pram by the car. He doesn’t remember the pain of breaking his arm, just the feel of Ilsa’s warm hand on his back as he gulped back tears.

 

He remembers the first fight his mother and Uncle Ted had that he understood. Remembers the feel of the wooden door against his cheek as he listened to their voices grow louder.

 

He remembers meeting Al for the fist time, and thinking _“so you’re me, if Rokeby had cared.”_ He also remembers not feeling the jealousy he thought he would.

 

He doesn’t remember how aunt Joan found out he smoked but he remembers the aftermath of it.

 

He remembers going to a party with Dave Polworth and ending up in a tiny bedroom with a girl whose name he can’t remember. He remembers the shocked “Diddy!” that escaped Dave’s mouth when he saw them descend the stairs together.

 

He remembers Nick standing with a group of boys in the yard at lunch and he remembers kicking Nick’s ball away from him and making him chase after it, his own subtle way of inviting himself into the group.

 

He remembers the night Leda brought Shanker home. He remembers lying in bed with Lucy, her head tucked under his chin, and staying awake all night waiting for Shanker to rob them or do worse. He remembers feeling angry as he watched Leda sleep peacefully, knowing that yet again she hadn’t thought of their welfare and yet again he would need to be the protector. He doesn’t remember the moment Shanker became his brother in all but blood, but he remembers catching a glimpse of Leda’s wide smile as they fought over the leftovers at dinner.

 

He doesn’t remember the reason Lucy and he ended up in Cornwall unannounced one Christmas but he remembers aunt Joan wiping his tears with her apron when he realised Leda wasn’t planning on joining them.

 

He remembers some of the fights he got into but none of the details and he remembers the day he convinced Nick to ditch school. He remembers them waiting impatiently in McDonalds for the breakfast menu to finish and he remembers losing all his change in the arcade. He also remembers Nick’s panic when he couldn’t find his bag in the bushes they had stowed them in that morning, and he remembers the dead arm Nick gave him when he realised he’d throw them into a different bush when Nick wasn’t looking.

 

He remembers every nice flat, commune, bedsit, drug den, tent and car he slept in with Lucy and Leda but he tries not to remember the strange men and the details of it all.

 

He doesn’t remember every time he sat at Nick’s kitchen table studying for his GCSE’s but he remembers all the times Nick asked about going to his house instead and he remembers the look on his face when he told him everything. He also remembers the day Nick’s mother started making him stay for dinner and the day she told him Lucy could come over too.

 

He remembers, with a pang of regret, the embarrassment he felt standing beside Nick’s normal family at their shared eighteenth birthday party with his pregnant mother and her drug addicted boyfriend.

 

He remembers the rush of warmth he felt when Ilsa couldn’t stop babbling about Nick after they met. He adds that to the warmth he felt when Lucy gave birth for the first time and told him that she felt like she finally belonged.

 

He remembers the first time he laid eyes on Charlotte. He remembers her beauty hitting him full force in the chest. He remembers the first time they had sex, the parties, the suicide attempts and the fights.

 

He remembers a woman, she only looked a few years older than him, coming into the lecture hall and whispering something to his lecturer. He remembers walking with her to the admin office, her mumbling something when he asked what was going on. A distant thought floated through his head, “ _they’ve cancelled your scholarship, you’ll have to leave_.” He remembers the woman, her face pale and eyes averted, pointing towards the phone left off the hook on the desk. He knew instantly it was her. His hand hovered over the phone. He prayed it wasn’t aunt Joan, uncle Ted or Lucy, but he knew it was her. He remembers Ted’s voice, thick and shaky with tears. He doesn’t remember if he stayed standing or sat, if he went back to class or ran home. He doesn’t remember the next day, just snatches of conversations, all by phone, coming awake with a shock in the middle of the night and feeling the loneliest he’d ever felt. He remembers waking up to find Nick sleeping on the floor by his bed, using his bag as a pillow. He doesn’t know what they talked about or how Nick got to Oxford so quick or who told him Leda was dead. He does remember them sitting together on his bed and drinking beer washed down with cheap vodka.

 

He remembers every detail of Leda’s funeral, who was there and who wasn’t. He remembers watching Nick and Ilsa sitting together. He remembers Lucy’s pale face and the dark circles under her eyes and he remembers thinking, “ _I should have stayed_.”

 

He also remembers every detail of the trial and Whittaker’s face as he walked free.

 

For a long time he tried to forget the looks on everyones faces when he told them he’d joined the army, particularly Lucy’s and Joan’s. He remembers the first week of his first tour and how it felt like hell. He also remembers the comfort he felt when he found the relief he had been searching for.

 

He remembers sand in his mouth, quickly followed by a rush of vomit. He remembers a searing pain and expecting to look down and find his leg on fire, not gone. He doesn’t remember anything else for a week or more. Then he remembers every tedious, painful and angry moment.

 

There is a long stretch of time that he doesn’t remember, not because he can’t but because it’s all a grey period. As though in his mind he can only watch it back through a frosted screen door. He knows he should remember setting up the agency and the silence of his phone for weeks. He should remember begging Rokeby for a loan and the ash tray hitting him in the face the first time. He should remember the various temps he had in the office but he doesn’t.

 

He remembers Robin.

 

He remembers her bringing coffee and biscuits into his office as he talked to John Bristow.

 

He remembers every inch of the room as she stood in front of him in the green dress.

 

He remembers the lines in her forehead as she wrapped her scarf around his bloody arm and he remembers how big his hand felt on her shoulder as she took some of his weight. He remembers the food hamper she plonked onto the table in the pub and the taste of every piece of toffee they ate in the car together.

 

He remembers the heavy weight that fell from his heart to his stomach when he saw her engagement ring returned to its place.

 

He also remembers the moment she told him she’d left Matthew, for good, and the bottle of champagne he bought her.

 

He remembers the static pressure he felt in his chest every day for a month before he finally asked her if she’d like to have dinner with him. He remembers the pitch of her laugh when he told her that he thought he’d have a heart attack before he’d pluck up the courage.

 

He remembers every date they went on and he remembers the squeal from Ilsa and the thump on the back from Nick when they told them. He remembers Shanker’s “ _Well Jesus Christ Bunsen, you took long enough_.”

 

He remembers the first time they had sex and he remembers trailing his fingers across every inch of her skin and never wanting to stop. He remembers the first time they just lay together in bed, breaths evening out in unison, his arm wrapped around her waist and her leg thrown over his hip.

 

Her face and body have changed over the years but all of the soft smiles, the ones meant for him alone, have blurred into one solid memory he can call to mind whenever needed; Robin sitting on his bed, her hand in his with the patter of rain on the window behind her the only sound he can hear over the thump of his heart. The words “ _I love you too_ ” sound mumbled in his memory but the movement of her lips is sure and he has imagined this moment so much he can lip read every syllable now.

 

He remembers a lot and forgets just as much but he knows Robin’s face, an image blurred of all imperfections by time, will be the last thing he sees. He will barter and abandon every other memory in exchange for this one. He remembers Robin, and it will always be like this.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :) 
> 
> A bit of an experimental piece for me - so sorry for the repetitive 'he remembers' (I can feel the glare of my secondary school English teacher already)
> 
> Normal 'domestic situation' additions to this series should resume soon.


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